


where are we now?

by miraxb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Berlin Nightlife, Clubbing, Dancing, Ice Cream, M/M, Skinny Dipping, Swimming, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraxb/pseuds/miraxb
Summary: The Berlin storiesSirius meets a familiar stranger while visiting Berlin. Everything is different. Everything is the same.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 47
Kudos: 217





	1. reeling through the midnight streets

**Author's Note:**

> Title from David Bowie's "Where Are We Now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Lorde's "Ribs"
> 
> Inspired by a prompt from [@wanderingbandurria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBandurria/pseuds/WanderingBandurria)

Sirius and James made their way down the sidewalk to the next club on their list. They bumped shoulders and weaved around on purpose, revelling in their slight buzz and pretending it was much more. It was still early in the night — by Berlin standards at least — and they were planning on making the very most of their time in the famous nightlife city, so they had limited themselves to two shots a piece at the first club. 

James had tugged Sirius away when he had wanted to accept the little tab of paper from the waifish girl with green hair and the most magnificent eyeliner Sirius had ever seen. 

“James!” he had cried out in dismay. “I wanted to try that.”

“Later, Pads,” James had reassured him as he navigated them towards the little square of fresh air that represented the exit from the smokey, thrumming, dance hall. “I just don’t want you to pass out before the night’s even started. And we both know you can’t really handle your shit.”

Sirius had spluttered in incoherent offence for a few moments, but he hadn't fought James on the point. They both knew he was right. And it would be a shame to miss out on the all-night marathon that the two of them had been planning for at least five months now. It had been their light at the end of the tunnel for their entire last term of uni: the prize they had reminded one another of whenever someone seemed in danger of giving up on his dissertation, the push they had both needed to make it across the finish lines of their degrees. 

Now they were queuing outside the second venue of their night. It was a gay club, which had been Sirius’ requirement of the evening: every other location, at the very least, had to be queer. 

“It’s Berlin, Jamie! You can’t expect me to go to Berlin and not shag at least four different blokes in the bathroom. That’d be a waste of a trip!”

The queue here was long, but the flashing lights and pulsing beats that emanated through the open door promised to be worth the wait. Taking in their peers in the queue, Sirius was gratified to see that this was not the same gay bar clientele one found in London. Sure, there were still the gaggles of (probably) straight girls in painful-looking shoes, but they were far outnumbered by some of the most interesting looking folks Sirius had ever laid eyes on. And most everyone appeared to actually be dressed to dance: simple black clothes and comfortable shoes were the norm. 

As they approached the front of the queue, Sirius felt his excitement mounting. He elbowed James and gave him a look of pure giddiness. James grinned back, and threw an arm around his shoulders.

When they finally entered the main dance hall, Sirius could only describe the feeling that swept through him as pure ecstasy. The music vibrated through the floor and in every particle of the air. It beat inside his very bones. There was no choice but to move with it, because he was no longer really an individual body — he was now part of the organism that was the club.

James beamed at his obvious joy, and leaned in close to shout in his ear. 

“You scope out where you wanna dance first, I’ll go get drinks and catch you up!”

Sirius nodded in assent, and, without another glance at James, started making his way deeper into the crush of bodies. The air smelled of musk and smoke and liquor. The flashing lights reflected off of people’s teeth and set their sweaty skin aglow. 

He had just started to feel really at ease — a sweat across his brow, a smile on his face, his body understanding the rhythms of the dance with growing ease — when he saw something that nearly stopped his heart.

Or rather, someone. 

He was on the other side of the floor, dancing alone with his eyes closed. 

Sirius had thought the dance was inside of everyone, that the music was infectious and impossible to ignore. But watching this man, he came to understand that whatever everyone else in the room was doing, it could not be considered dance. And whatever they thought they understood in the music, they were missing the point. 

This man was poetry made flesh. He was muse itself. His face was upturned, and Sirius imagined him in communion with some invisible god of grace. His black shirt was long-sleeved and clung to his lean torso, laying bare the outline of his every muscle and bone to the shimmering, magical influence of the coloured lights. 

Sirius felt his body gravitating across the floor and towards the man without active instruction from his brain. All he knew was that he needed to be closer. He needed to find out if such beauty was truly possible, or simply a trick played on the mind by light and vodka. 

As he grew closer, he came to see that he was not alone in his curiosity about this stranger. All around him, others danced with their eyes open and their faces turned in his direction. But no one made any attempt to touch him, to dance with him. It was like he exuded a force field, an electrical charge that no one was willing to trespass. 

Sirius got as close as he could without violating the invisible boundary line. From here, he could see the man’s features with more clarity. He had curly, dark hair and a crooked nose that showed signs of having been broken more than once. His features were simultaneously odd and in perfect harmony with one another. Something about them tugged at a corner of Sirius’ mind: thin lips, subtly marred by a slender scar, stretched wide across his face in a crooked, closed-mouth smile that revealed the sharpness of delicate cheekbones. His closed eyes were a bit wide set and thickly framed in long, dark lashes. 

Suddenly, those eyes flew open and looked directly into Sirius’ own. Sirius felt the eye contact like a physical jolt to his system. His breath caught and his limbs, which so far had been moving mindlessly, effortlessly along with the dance, came to seem awkward and stiff. 

The stranger raised his eyebrows in amusement, his lips parting to show a set of impressively crooked teeth. Then he reached out an arm and grabbed Sirius by the forearm. He cocked his head to the side in question, and when Sirius nodded breathlessly, pulled him in close. 

And then they were dancing, and his long, slender hands were everywhere, skimming up Sirius’ back and then teasing at the waist of his black skinny jeans. The heady scent of his sweat flooded Sirius’ mind with every inhale. 

Intertwined with this man, it was as if Sirius were anointed with his same supernatural grace. The air became water, muting everything that was outside of their shared bubble and making every movement fluid and sensuous. 

They pressed closer and closer, like twin magnets long separated and finally within reach once again. Kissing, it seemed, was the inevitable next step.

But then the man ceased dancing, and leaned back, and Sirius, bereft of contact, froze and watched him in confusion.

Sirius took another look into the stranger’s bright, intelligent, mischievous eyes. That tugging at the edge of thought and memory returned to him. There was something he was meant to be remembering, he could feel it. But he could also feel that there were far more important and pleasurable things close at hand, so he pushed away the nagging thoughts.

The man leaned in close to Sirius’ ear and spoke for the first time.

“Join me for a drink?” he asked. He spoke English with a British accent, and something about the way he formed his words tapped again at that tentative fragment of memory that refused to be placed.

Sirius nodded, and the stranger took him by the hand and pulled him towards the bar. As they went, Sirius caught sight of James making his way over to them with two drinks in hand. James gave him a questioning look when he saw that Sirius was not alone. Sirius shook his head as discreetly as possible, and James took the hint and switched directions. Sirius felt guilty for about a split second, but then he caught his companion’s eye again and every other thing fled his mind. 

The man was smiling coyly, and Sirius grinned back, enthralled. Clearly, there was some joke Sirius was missing out on, but he could not care about that right now. All he wanted was to get closer again, and to maybe, possibly, kiss that teasing smile off the other man’s lips. 

They reached the bar, and the stranger waved to catch the bartender’s attention.

Sirius watched in awe as he ordered two shots in perfect German.

“I thought you were British!” he exclaimed. “Like me!”

The man smiled, that private joke dancing in his eyes again. “I was born in England,” he said. “But I’ve lived in Berlin for many years now.”

Sirius nodded, impressed. The bartender brought over the shots. They each grabbed one and lifted in the air. They shared an intimate look, then threw the liquor back. It burned on the way down.

“And what brings you to Berlin?” asked the man, once they had recovered enough to speak.

“I’ve just graduated uni,” Sirius replied. “My best mate and I are on a celebratory trip, of sorts.”

The man grinned more widely, showing off his crooked teeth and his peculiar scar once again. He said nothing for a moment, and then:

“Oh, I thought I saw James! So you two are still close, then?”

The words hit Sirius like a gale force wind. Where a moment before the world had made sense, now there was only rushing pressure and swirling space and a curious airlessness. 

Then the wind stopped, and the world reformed, except now the pieces that had been jumbled and confused were clicking into place. 

“Remus?” Sirius asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Hi, Sirius,” Remus said. “I thought maybe you hadn’t recognised me. The scar has a way of doing that.”

Sirius eyed the scar in question. Slight as it was, it did change the shape of Remus’ smile. But no, it was the years that had changed him more. Gone was the awkward, gawky thirteen year old Sirius had seen last. The features were the same, but they had grown and melded into the bewitching face that was watching him carefully now.

Remus looked less certain now, as if worried the revelation was not a wholly pleasant one for Sirius. Sirius wanted to wipe that concerned look away — he ached to have the smile and the warmth and brightness back again. But there were no words in his mind. 

He had thought he would never see Remus again. In primary school, the three of them had been inseparable: James the charismatic leader, and Sirius and Remus the two lost boys who found shelter in his confidence and ease. They spent every afternoon together in the Potter’s backyard, playing make-believe games and eating the delicious snacks that Mrs. Potter prepared for them.

And then, when they were thirteen and on the cusp of upper school, Remus had left without warning and without explanation. One day, he simply stopped coming in, and Miss told them that his father had been relocated, and that Remus would not be coming back.

But now here he was again, and Sirius was lost in the confusing swirl of aching loss and revelatory joy. Suddenly, the club felt suffocating. There were too many people, and too much noise, and all Sirius wanted was quiet and privacy and Remus, Remus, Remus.

“Can we — can we get out of here?” Sirius asked.

Remus raised his eyebrows high, and Sirius realised what his words had sounded like.

“I mean — can we go outside for a bit? Walk? Catch up?” He reached out and laid his hand atop Remus’ where it rested on the bar. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “I want to know what I’ve missed.”

Remus gave him a small smile, and nodded. “We can do that. Let me just find Andi and let her know I’m leaving.”

“You’re here with — someone?” Sirius asked, suddenly terrified.

Remus gave him a far too knowing look. “Just a colleague from the Phil. And maybe you should tell James? I’ll meet you by the door.”

Remus turned away and disappeared into the crowd. Sirius felt a bubble of dread rise up in his stomach. James — sweet, funny, charismatic James — would want to see Remus as soon as he found out who the mystery man was. Sirius would lose the delicate pocket of intimacy he had felt growing over the two of them since they had first locked eyes on the dance floor. 

Everything would be as it had been all those years ago, before Remus moved away. Had someone suggested that as a possibility to Sirius even an hour previous, he would have been overjoyed at the idea of regaining his friend and the easy camaraderie the three of them had shared as boys. But now, the idea of looking at Remus as just a friend, just one of the lads — it was nearly as painful to Sirius as the thought of losing Remus all over again. 

Making a split-second decision, and banking on James’ endless capacity for patience and forgiveness, he darted in the direction he had last seen his friend heading.

James was chatting to a beautiful girl with long, red hair.

“Jamie!” he called out. James looked around, a little miffed. The girl eyed Sirius critically. 

“What?” he asked, his voice clipped, clearly trying to indicate to Sirius that this was not the best moment for an interruption.

“I’m going to, uh, go outside with someone for a bit. I’ll message you, alright? We can meet up at the next club or something.”

James nodded distractedly, already turned halfway back towards the red-haired woman. “Sure, Sirius. Be safe, right?”

“Yes, mum,” Sirius replied. He rumpled James’ hair and then ran towards the door before there was a chance for retaliation.

Remus was waiting for him by the exit. “James not coming?” he asked nonchalantly. 

Sirius searched for a trace of disappointment on his face, but found none. He shrugged. “He was chatting someone up, so I left him to it.”

“Good of you,” Remus said teasingly.

“Oh, yes,” said Sirius. “I am very self sacrificing.”

Remus laughed. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the door. 

“Let’s,” agreed Sirius.

The air outside was cool and refreshing after the warm, smokey interior of the club. 

“Where should we walk?” Sirius asked.

Remus indicated down a side street with his head. “There’s a quieter neighbourhood just this way, if you want to get away from the revellers for a bit.”

“That sounds perfect.”

They walked in companionable silence until they reached a mellow, tree-lined block. Sirius recalled what Remus had said just before he had left the bar.

“You said you worked at the Phil?” he asked, unsure what it meant.

Remus nodded. “Berlin Philharmonic. For three years now.”

Sirius gaped at him. “The Berlin Philharmonic? Isn’t that — isn’t that the best orchestra in the world?”

Remus shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I suppose it’s one of them.”

“So you stuck with the cello, huh?” When they had been children, Remus had toted a massive cello to and from school each day. It had looked ridiculous at the time, completely dwarfing his small frame. Now, Sirius imagined the adult Remus carrying a cello case on his back. He swallowed hard.

Remus nodded again. “Yeah. When we moved to Munich, I didn’t have any friends. I spent all my time practicing. When it was time to enter upper school here, I managed to audition into a conservatory here in Berlin. I’ve been playing with the Phil since I graduated.” 

He delivered all of this information as if it wasn’t completely, shatteringly impressive. Sirius watched him with ever-mounting awe.

“And you?” he asked Sirius. “What did you end up studying?”

“Art,” Sirius said. “Painting, mostly. But also ceramics and sculpture.”

“That’s amazing, Sirius,” Remus said. He sounded warm, and genuine, and just — Remus.

Sirius laughed drily. “I’m just about the least employable person you’ve ever met.”

Remus elbowed him gently. “Hey, you’re talking to a classical musician without a university degree. I think I won this round.”

“Yes, but as we’ve established, you’re a prodigy who plays for the best orchestra in the world. The rules hardly apply to you.”

Remus laughed, allowing this point. 

And, oh, it was so easy, standing here with Remus, to feel that they had never been parted. To imagine that they had stayed in touch through the years, and that this was simply Sirius paying a visit to his friend Remus who lived in Berlin. And oh, how he wished they had — the various universes unfurled in his mind, and he was once again hit in the gut with the double punch of grief at the chances lost, and joy at the possibilities regained.

Remus seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Well, there’s always work for artists in Berlin. You ought to move here. Ha.”

The suggestion, made half in jest, rushed up and over Sirius, and suddenly it was the only thing in the world he wanted. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “I ought to.”

Remus smiled hugely at him, a shining beacon that Sirius latched onto for dear life.

They continued walking down the tame, residential street, lined up so closely that their hands brushed with each step they took.

It was funny — less than an hour before, they had been dancing close enough to kiss. But now that Sirius knew who Remus was, he felt as shy as a teenager on his first date.

In a rush of courage, Sirius caught Remus’ hand in his own and interlaced their fingers. Remus squeezed hard in response, then leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder. 

They walked like that, intertwined, through the long Berlin night. Slowly, they grew familiar with one another once again. Sirius told Remus stories about his time at uni, and the time he had spent living with the Potters. Remus told Sirius about his life in Berlin, and his friends in the orchestra. Their conversation flowed easily, and when lulls of silence came, they were as comfortable and familiar as lying down in bed at the end of a long day.

During one such lull, Sirius thought idly that there was little chance he’d ever return to his epic night out with James. At least not this trip. 

He had a feeling that James would understand.


	2. make the most of the midday sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Arlo Parks' "Romantic Garbage".
> 
> Inspired by a prompt from [remus-john-lupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelated/pseuds/pixelated)

It is really rather ludicrously hot in Berlin. 

Like, _the backs of Sirius’ thighs are stuck to his plastic seat_ hot.

Like, _maybe there is a reason he and James had planned this holiday with a nocturnal schedule in mind_ hot. 

But then again, they had also planned this holiday without a surprise reunion with an old friend in mind. So. Win some, lose some. 

~

Remus had said it would be a good day for the lake. 

He was fully dressed at the time, early as it was, and again in all black. Cropped black stovepipes and a loose, black, squarish sort of tee shirt and even a ridiculous black fisherman’s beanie that did a laughable job containing his sleep-mussed curls. Sirius, still sleepy, had been tantalisingly reminded of the night before, when they’d exchanged light touches and warm laughs. It was _good_ to have his friend back; good to hear his laugh again — so much deeper in timbre now but still the loveliest sound in the world, especially when Sirius was the one who managed to pull it forth.

“I’ve rehearsal until two,” Remus said then, interrupting the sluggish, churning thoughts of a half-conscious Sirius, slumped in the kitchenette of the studio flat at just gone seven in the morning. “But I can meet you up by the lakes at three-ish?”

Sirius nodded his groggy agreement and Remus scribbled down his number and informed Sirius to WhatsApp him for details once he was fully conscious.

“These are the keys,” he said, dropping a ring of three on the countertop in front of Sirius’ nose. “Medium one’s for the door. Lock up on your way out and bring them with you to the lake, alright? Might have to turn twice to get the lock to catch.”

Sirius said _‘yes’_ while rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and Remus smiled in a way that might— _might_ —be described as fond, and then he turned around and Sirius almost had his nose bonked by the massive hard-backed cello case strapped to the other man’s back. Then the door was swishing open and slamming shut and Sirius was alone in the flat. 

It was all white-washed walls and frayed wool blankets, overstuffed bookcases and ungainly houseplants. The kitchen was well stocked with bagged teas and not much else, and Sirius would bet anything that if he opened the freezer, it’d be empty of everything but Haägen Dazs Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. Sitting in this space that already, against all logic, felt achingly familiar, Sirius had known he would never survive this. Not if he was wrong about what page Remus was on. Not if he had found Remus only to lose him again.

~

Now, on the train, Sirius thumbs through a LonelyPlanet Berlin that he found on one of Remus’ shelves. It’s dated to 2014, but he figures it should still have something to tell him. A city near eight hundred years old surely couldn’t change _that_ much in a matter of seven years. 

_Krumme Lanke, named for its crooked shape, is located in the south-west of Berlin._

The book supplies a picture of the lake. It is shaped like a sickle, and Sirius immediately likes it. It’s sharp and unusual and everything kindred.

_It is surrounded by the dense green forest of the Grunewald. Its cool waters and ample beach space make it a popular locale for swimmers during the summer months._

Oh, god. Cold water. Yes. That is what he needs. Sirius pulls out his mobile, flicks over to WhatsApp. _‘I cannot wait to swim dear god.’_ He sends it without thinking, like he would have texted James. Simple. All the ease is still there.

The book goes on.

_Notably, it is nudist friendly, and many visitors elect to skinny dip._

Sirius feels his stomach drop. In his mind, unbidden, arises an image of acres and acres of freckled skin, shining with water and uninterrupted by fabric. 

So maybe not _that_ simple.

 _“Krumme Lanke,_ ” the cool feminine voice of the U-Bahn says. He jerks out of his reverie and stands quickly. Too quickly. He probably loses a layer of skin to the damned plastic seat. But, no time to cry over it. He exits the metro, taking the stairs three at a time simply because he can, and reenters the brilliant, furious sunlight of the day. 

~ 

Before catching the metro in Kreuzberg that afternoon, Sirius had met James for lunch at a sidewalk cafe where the flimsy table umbrellas struggled to hold their own against the sun’s glaring rays. At least James had brought him a change of clothes from the hostel. Spending the entire day in his black skinny jeans from the night before would have been hell. With James was the redhead he’d seen only a glimpse of the night before. She introduced herself as ‘Lily’ in pristine, German-accented english and informed Sirius that she was a biochemistry researcher at Freie Universität. 

“I am working on my doctorate,” she told him. “I study the brain chemistry of songbirds.”

Sirius looked over the top of his sunglasses from her to James and then back to her. 

“And you went home with _Jamie_? Don’t you want someone better?”

Lily laughed very prettily and James tried to punch Sirius in the arm but missed because he was too busy watching Lily with stars in his eyes. When he recovered enough to string words together again, he asked Sirius about his night. 

“Where’s _your_ bloke, then? Suppose he couldn’t wait to get away from you?”

Sirius felt his jaw slam shut. He still wasn’t ready for James to know about Remus. Maybe it was unfair of him — James had been close to Remus too, after all. He was going to be overjoyed when he discovered his reemergence in their lives. But Sirius needed to know where this — this _thing_ with Remus was going before he let anyone else in. James would have to forgive him a few more hours of omission.

James, apparently sensing Sirius’ tension, looked concerned. “Sirius, mate, I was just kidding. I’m sure he had a great time, or — I mean, was everything alright last night? I should have checked —”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sirius interrupted before James could work himself up more. “He was, ah, great, but he works Saturdays. He’s a musician. Has rehearsal.” 

“Oh, right! That’s very cool, then. What’s he play?”

Sirius hesitated again. But then, there were a lot of cellists in the world, weren't there? “Cello.”

“Oh! Like Remus did, right? Fuck me, d’you remember Remus?”

“I —”

“James, do you still want to go to _Museumsinsel_?” Lily interrupted. “It will be very crowded if we wait much longer. Everyone will be seeking out air conditioning.”

“Oh, yeah! Sirius, Lily said she’d show us the museum-island-thing today. Want to come?”

Sirius glanced at Lily, grateful and uncertain if he should be. She smiled a very slight smile. It was too _hot_ for this.

“What — er, no, I’m going swimming. I, ah, heard about a lake.”

“Oho! Is the bloke from last night going with you?”

~

Outside the Krumme Lanke U-Bahn, Sirius receives a message from Remus. 

“ _Rehearsal ran a bit late. I’ll be there in 10. Wait for me by the station? There’s a cafe across the street.”_

Sirius looks up from his mobile to see that, indeed, caterwise across the intersection, is another sidewalk cafe. More of a chippy, really, with large, bright signs advertising various fried golden foods and an awning that proclaimed _Eis!_ in looping cursive. There is also a large plastic ice cream cone out front, blue and pink and topped with a white cloud of whipped cream, and it beckons to his heat-hazy mind. 

He crosses the street — remembering a little late to look left first and nearly getting mown down by a bicycle in the process — and arrives in front of the cafe. The smell of the greasy food makes him vaguely queasy but, beyond the queue of other customers, he can see the frosted glass case and all of its creamy, pastel-coloured riches. He takes his place, trying not to think too hard about what will happen when Remus finally arrives. 

At the front of the queue, he is confronted with his options. There are thirty-two flavours and, were it not for the little pictures in the corner of each tag, he would have no idea what any of them were. Or, maybe that’s an overstatement — he can guess that _Vanille_ means vanilla, _Schokolade_ chocolate. Still, he finds himself wishing he’d taken up Mrs. Potter’s suggestion of looking through a phrasebook before leaving for the trip. 

Behind the ice cream case, a young woman in a pale blue polo top watches him expectantly. And… with some interest. “ _Was möchten Sie gerne?_ ” she asks, and Sirius isn’t sure what it means but he recognises that tone of voice. She is eager to be of assistance. Possibly in more ways than one. It wouldn’t be the first time he left a shop with a number scrawled on the side of his paper cup. 

“Er,” he vamps, partially because he hasn’t decided what he wants yet and partially because he isn’t yet sure how to communicate: _You’re really very pretty and I’m really very flattered but you are Not Remus, so you might as well give up now_. 

Finally, his eyes land on a lightly flecked, beige ice cream. _Haselnuss_ , the label says, with a tiny picture of a Nutella jar. Perfect. 

“Ha — hassle — noose?”

The woman behind the counter giggles adorably and covers her grin with her plastic gloved hand. Sirius smiles his best self-deprecating smile; ducks his head. He’s not trying to flirt but it’s impossible not to feel like a bit of a guilty schoolboy when he’s so obviously butchering someone else’s language.

“What size?” she asks, having correctly deduced that English is his best bet. Her hand is hovering over the example cup sizes. _Klein. Groß_. He has no idea which is which. And, oh _no_. She’s giggling at him again. 

Suddenly, there’s a large hand against his lower back and Remus is by his side. 

“ _Groß_ ,” he says. The girl looks between the two of them, eyebrows slightly raised. Her eyes track down to Remus’ arm around his back, and she smiles again. Then Remus says a lot of other things, too quickly for Sirius to understand, and the girl is scooping two large cups of ice cream, one with the hazelnut flavour he’d requested and one that looks like raspberry and chocolate. Sirius fumbles for his wallet, pulls out a twenty euro note because he figures he won’t understand the price when she says it but that this will likely cover it, and hands it over to her. 

“No change,” he says before she can offer, waving a hand in front of his face. She giggles again, shares an amiably long-suffering look with Remus. Remus, who’s hand is still resting lightly on his lower back. Then there’s an ice cold cup in his hand and they’re stepping away from the counter.

“That was generous of you,” is the first thing Remus says to him. “You gave her a ten euro tip.” 

“Really?” Sirius asks. “Oh well. I guess I’m used to London prices.”

Remus snorts lightly, and his hand absents itself. Sirius immediately misses it. “Glad to see you’re still a rich boy at heart.”

Sirius gasps his faux offense and reaches out to tweak Remus’ shoulder. “Me? Never.” He accidentally-on purpose forgets to move his hand away afterwards.

“No?” Remus chuckles, and Sirius can feel the rumble of his chest radiate out through his shoulder, and he knows he would walk across hot coals to make it happen again. “What happened to the Black family fortune?”

Well. “I wouldn’t know, haven’t spoken to any of them since I came out.” 

A feeling of unreality visits Sirius for a brief moment, then. To mention that time so casually, and to _Remus_ of all people, the person he had most wished for when it had all been going down. But then Remus freezes, holding his drippy ice cream cup sideways even though the quickly-melting chocolate custard is spilling out, and Sirius forces himself back to centre and gives the bony shoulder under his hand another squeeze. Gentler this time, but for longer.

“I had no idea, Sirius,” Remus says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked — fuck — ”

“Hey! It’s alright!” And it _is_ alright; it’s somewhat more than alright. Sirius is twenty-two and he’s in Berlin and he’s watching as Remus Lupin attempts to lick melted ice cream off the side of his hand and being an angry, scared sixteen-year old is about as distant a feeling as he can imagine at present. “Anyway, you’re right, I am still a posh fuck. I’ve been living with the Potters ever since.” 

“Ha.” 

“So, how far to this lake you’ve promised?” Sirius asks, and he knows he’s steering them away from words that need to be said. He can’t help it. 

Remus takes the cue. “About a kilometre. It’s just a straight shot down this road.”

The road is wide and tree lined, the two lanes populated by more bikes than cars. Two cyclists zip past them just then, and the breeze of it lifts Sirius’ hair off his neck. A strand gets caught between his lips. 

Without a word, Remus reaches over and tucks it back behind his ear. 

“I was so glad, last night, when I saw you hadn’t cut your hair.” 

He speaks so gently and so matter-of-factly. Again, Sirius is in his orbit, in the bubble of his presence. So quietly affecting. He can’t look away. 

“I would wonder, sometimes, over the years. How you were doing. What you looked like. What pranks you and James were playing on the teachers. And I could never imagine you looking any different, really, than you had at thirteen. Taller and older and everything, sure. But. Yeah. I’m glad you didn’t cut your hair. I’m glad I wasn’t imagining you wrong.”

“I’m glad, too,” Sirius chokes out. 

And he is. It’s odd, because he can’t go back, can’t change how things were, and yet still, there’s comfort in knowing: all those times he felt alone, and there was someone out there thinking of him. There was Remus. Thinking of him. 

“You were like — like a magnet, last night,” he says then. “I didn’t know who you were at first but I think something in me did. Recognised you. I needed to get closer to you. It was like — like. Fuck. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“I was scared that you just wouldn’t recognise me,” Remus says, and it sounds like an admission. He reaches up a hand, traces over the scar that renders his grin slightly crooked. “I had never really cared about this thing until that moment.”

Sirius wants to take that hand in his own, wants to kiss that scar until the uncertainty clouding Remus’ lovely, warm eyes disappears. “It wasn’t the scar, really,” he says instead. “I just —” 

“What?” Remus asks. Whispers. 

“Blimey, Remus, do you know how beautiful you are?” It bursts out of him without his permission. “I saw you and I thought you were made of magic. It’s not that I didn’t recognise you so much as I didn’t even — fuck, I didn’t even know what to think. My brain wasn’t working well enough for that.”

Remus is silent, his eyes wide, pink high in his cheeks and a shimmer of sweat across his forehead. Then he grins, all crooked and knowing, and Sirius can hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

“You always were the charmer,” Remus says. He takes Sirius’ hand, then, and both their palms are sticky with melted ice cream, and it doesn’t matter at all.

“What happened to you?” Sirius wonders aloud, unable to contain his smile.

“You mean the scar? Bike accident. Right over the handlebars. Never bike in a new city until you’re used to the rules of the road.” 

“No, no,” Sirius chuckles, although he’s relieved to learn that it was nothing more dramatic. “I mean, like, what happened to the shy kid I used to hang around with? You’re so — you’re so — self-possessed.” Saying it out loud shows him how true it is. “Yeah, you’re just. Fuck, Remus. It’s bloody hot. You’re bloody hot.”

Remus laughs, lifts there joined hands and brushes a kiss across the back of Sirius’. “I dunno know,” he says. “I guess I figured somewhere along the line that —” he hesitates, and Sirius wants to know what he was going to say more than he wants air to breath. 

“What?”

He shrugs. “I figured — now, don’t hear this the wrong way, but. I spent a lot of time alone, when we first moved. I was just playing music all the time, walking around the city alone. I was so bad at making friends, and I didn’t know very much German, and, well. I got really used to myself. And at a certain point, I kind of realised — I kind of realised how much I liked myself. Who I was. And then it didn’t matter as much, you know, if I was good looking. Or clever.” 

He glances at Sirius sideways through thick lashes; a cautious, measuring look. 

“I think it’s… I think it’s good, in some ways, that I had those years alone, without you and James. I think I needed to know I was good on my own. Even if it waslonely, sometimes.” He sounds apologetic, and Sirius squeezes his hand. 

“I know exactly what you mean.”

Suddenly, Sirius catches a glimpse of sparkling blue through the trees. “I see water!” he yelps. He’s visited by the urge to start running, and it’s only his fingers tangled with Remus’ that stop him. 

“Should we run?” Remus asks, like he’s read his mind, and then, without waiting for a reply, he lets go of Sirius’ hand and breaks into a sprint. Sirius trips over his own feet a bit in his hurry to catch up.

Through the trees, down a sandy path, and the beach greets him in all of its wide, sun-soaked glory. There are bathers here and there, stretched out on towels or splashing in the water. With a jolt, Sirius recalls the words of the guidebook. _Nudist friendly indeed._

Remus, two steps ahead of him, throws a wicked grin over his shoulder. Then he’s shucking out of his all-black ensemble, dropping it in a pile on the sand, and striding ahead to the water without another backwards glance. 

Sirius watches him go with more than a little awe. Then he’s pulling his own clothes off, so quickly and wildly that he hears a seam tear. It doesn’t matter. In seconds, his clothing is on the ground next to Remus’ and he’s walking brazenly across the sand. 

The water, when his feet finally reach the place where the lake kisses the shore, is cold and so clear he can see tadpoles darting around beneath the surface. Remus is already all the way in, a fact that Sirius regrets only briefly before following suit. 

The sound he makes as the water envelops him, lifting sweat and ice cream and city grit from his skin, is indecent. Remus wrinkles his nose, his eyes sparkling. “Should I give you two some privacy?” he asks. 

“Don’t you bloody dare,” Sirius all but growls back. He swims after Remus, three long strokes. They’re past the buoy line now. 

Remus is looking directly into his eyes. His lips are parted. There are droplets of water caught in his eyelashes. 

It’s hard to say who starts the kiss. They’re already so close, their hands brushing together under the water as they move to stay afloat. Maybe it’s Remus tilting his chin up. Maybe it’s Sirius, darting forward those last centimetres. 

All Sirius knows it that the feeling of Remus’ lips against his is the closest thing to home he’s ever known. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope this long-awaited second instalment satisfies. 
> 
> I'm open to continuing this AU, so while I'm calling it "done" for now, there might very well be more updates in the future. Since both chapters thus far have been inspired by prompts, I think it'd be cool to continue with that theme. So, if you're interested in a third chapter, drop by [tumblr](https://miraxb.tumblr.com/) and leave me something to chew on <333


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